


We Don't Have Time to Fuck Around

by Hum My Name (My_Kind_of_Crazy)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alpacas, But only a little, Fluff, Gen, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Pre-Relationship, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, can be read as gen or not, geraskier if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Kind_of_Crazy/pseuds/Hum%20My%20Name
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt fluff! Jaskier sees a group of alpacas while traveling and has to go see them. Geralt follows along and, finally, has the chance to pet an animal without it running away from him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 185
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	We Don't Have Time to Fuck Around

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the lovely and amazing people in the Dear Hearts Swimming Pool discord!! I am amazed by what we were able to do for the drive and I am so happy to be included in this fantastic group! I hope this little fic is an acceptable gift for all of you <3
> 
> I meant for this to only be about a few hundred words but, well, it got away from me, haha. 
> 
> (Non-beta'd and posted a bit later than I should be awake. All mistakes are mine, though I hope you will be forgiving if you see any!)

Though Jaskier misses his witcher in the colder winter months, it’s times like these that he admits to himself the poetic perfection of having a companion for the warmer times. Wandering outside for the better part of a day, he takes in the dense noises of summer; farmers in their fields, the click of Roach’s hooves along the trail, leaves rustling, small creatures chasing one another. 

Geralt’s soft breaths at his side, walking together in what could almost be silence.

Jaskier had strummed a few songs on his lute earlier in the day when the sun had just been rising and the air had been cool. Geralt had been on Roach, leading them out of the small town and into a stretch of street long enough to rival any of the trails Geralt’s taken them on so far. A few hours have passed and, though they’ve come across a few homes and travelers here and there, it’s mostly been empty fields and sparse forests.

Now, the sun lifts above them with a benevolent gaze, warm enough to inspire Jaskier to unbutton his doublet but not enough to lead him to his typical complaints and whines for a break. He’d fallen quiet a bit ago, listening to bird calls and songs, and Geralt hadn’t commented on his lack of words today, almost smiling when Jaskier had looked, wide-eyed, into the trees.

“It’s a lark,” Geralt says after a few moments, causing Jaskier to look over at him. Geralt’s gaze remains forward but he nods towards the trees to their right. Jaskier follows his direction, trying and failing to see the bird he’s talking about.

“Are they common here?” He asks, a sly glint in his eyes as he glances back over at Geralt. “Or are you just an expert on things that make pretty sounds?”

Geralt grunts but Jaskier lets himself believe it’s a laugh.

“They’re common,” Geralt says, but there’s that hint of a grin again.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier says, skipping forward a few paces. “Not all can be as unique a performer as I, anyway.”

“Hmm.”

“Shut up,” Jaskier turns around, walking backward in front of Geralt. “You love it. You should feel honored.”

“I feel tested,” Geralt says. 

“Well,” Jaskier says, his grin growing, “at least that admits some god saw fit to place me in your life. For whatever reason.”

Jaskier laughs, cutting off whatever response Geralt had been giving, reaching for his lute to swing it back over to his front. It’s a bit too sunny for any enthusiastic performances but he can certainly fit in a few rounds of  _ Toss A Coin _ . If Geralt wants to be tested, Jaskier is more than willing to oblige. 

He begins with the first chord, Geralt’s gaze sharpening in recognition. Jaskier speeds up his pace, though he keeps the cocky grin on his lips.

“ _ When a humble—  _ Alpaca, Geralt, look!”

Only years of care for his voice keep him from fully screeching, pointing to a field just off the trail and the group of animals scattered around it.

Geralt’s eyebrows furrow. “Yes? What about it?”

“What about it?” Jaskier splutters, gesturing frantically. “What about it? Geralt, darling, do you think I have often had a chance to see an alpaca in its natural habitat?”

“It’s a farm,” Geralt says, glancing briefly over towards the field. “Hardly a natural habitat.”

“Oh, okay, thank you Mr. I-Am-One-With-Nature,” Jaskier says, placing his hands on his hips and moving his head aggressively with each word. “Might I remind you about how new this whole wilderness and adventure lifestyle is to me? You might have found me just as I was accepting the rougher world as it is but, I assure you, Oxenfurt had no such—”

“Yes, I know,” Geralt says, slowing Roach to a stop in front of Jaskier. “You lived in the lap of luxury then gave it up to follow a witcher. Though, I will remind you, the second part was your idea.”

“And you would be lost without such ideas,” Jaskier says. “Now, if you think you can distract me from the alpacas—”

“We are not going to bother the alpacas,” Geralt says. To any other person, it may leave no room for further argument. Luckily, Jaskier was born with the ability to argue against even the toughest of foes— and Geralt, for all his sternness and rules, is far from the worst. 

“Very well, then,” Jaskier says, lifting his chin. “I shall go see them by myself.”

A pinched line appears between Geralt’s eyebrows. Jaskier considers it a win. 

“We don’t have time to fuck around,” Geralt says. “And you don’t know the farmer. He may not like a stranger bothering his animals.”

“ _You_ don’t have time to fuck around,” Jaskier says, already backing away towards the field. “But the part about being a traveling bard, Geralt, is that I work on my own hours. And if I want an alpaca break, by gods, I will get an alpaca break. And never mind the farmer. I’ll offer my services to feed the animals, if that’s what it takes. I can be quite helpful when I want to, you know.”

Geralt stares. Jaskier can practically hear him trying to come up with another argument; he turns and begins walking before Geralt has the chance to stop him.

“I’ll be with my new friends,” he calls over his shoulder. “Wait for me or don’t. I’ll just follow the smell of a lonely bore in order to catch up.”

Jaskier’s only somewhat surprised that Geralt doesn’t immediately follow him, half-expecting him to join if only to keep Jaskier from accidentally insulting the owner of this land. Not that there’s any sign of such a person. There’s only a small home towards the edge of the field, a barn and shed around it, and a fence low enough Jaskier barely has to exert any energy climbing over it.

He lands on the other side with a small “oof,” brushing the wrinkles from his clothes. All at once, the alpacas turn to face the sound.

“Oh, hello, lovelies,” he says, waving. “I just wanted to say hello, maybe steal some inspiration for a song, or, oh!”

There are only a handful— four or five— but they swarm Jaskier with an intensity he hadn’t known to expect. They’re small enough he doesn’t worry about any bites to his face, but he still jumps back to keep from spitting range.

“You’re all so excitable,” he exclaims, shoving away one rather persistent brown alpaca who seems intent on shoving her full face into his bag. “Come on, then, calm down and maybe I’ll grace you with a song.”

Somehow, the offer seems to work. 

The alpacas back off— though Jaskier admits it may be just that they’ve gotten used to his presence— and watch with steady black eyes. It’s not an easy silence they’ve fallen into, each of the creatures holding themselves as though ready to snatch up one of his fingers and run off with it.

Gods, Jaskier thinks as he pulls his lute back across his front. He really hopes they don’t take any of his fingers.

He doesn’t sing, too aware of the possibility the farmer may catch him, but he strums a few chords that seem to put the animals further at ease. As their tension fades, so does Jaskier’s, and he smiles as he plays.

“Knew you would like that one,” he mutters, strumming out an instrumental piece he was taught in Oxenfurt, something classical and pretentious. He leans back against the fence, smiling softly as the alpacas follow him just enough to show their interest in the song. A few have sat down, watching him with big eyes. “Puts Geralt to sleep, too, not that I think he notices.”

Geralt’s voice appears behind him, gruff but not without its gentleness— the tender tone Geralt likes to pretend isn’t there. “I do notice. I didn’t think you did.”

“Oh!” Only the proximity to the alpacas keeps Jaskier from fully launching himself from where he’s half perched on the fence, a leg propped on a lower beam so he can balance his lute on his thigh. Geralt rests his arms next to him, leaning over the other side of the fence with a not quite scowl on his face. “So you decided to join, after all.”

“Decided to make sure you don’t get sick from hanging around these animals.” Sure enough, Geralt eyes them as though daring them to spit at Jaskier. “They’re cute but that doesn’t mean they’re nice.”

“Aww,” Jaskier says, still playing softly. “You think they’re cute.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s alright,” Jaskier says with a laugh, turning to face his audience once more. “I won’t tell anyone you said that.”

Music fills the air once more, Jaskier slipping into some jauntier tunes he saves for the happier taverns and inns. He hums along with them, sometimes slipping into a soft singing when he gets too lost in the songs, but the alpacas remain where they are, unbothered and watching him play.

Beside him, Geralt is the same. Jaskier doesn’t dare turn to see Geralt’s face, almost afraid of breaking whatever spell has fallen over this place, but, he swears, he can feel his smile, anyway.

Three more songs in, Jaskier’s fingertips warm from the strings, one of the alpacas stands and walks towards Jaskier. He keeps playing, stumbling only when it butts his elbow, causing him to laugh.

“Alright, alright,” he says, pausing his music. “Didn’t like that tune, did you?”

The alpaca keeps nudging his arm with her head, making a soft humming sound of her own as he pulls his lute aside. 

“Really, though. What’s wrong with you?” Jaskier asks through his chuckles, fumbling to keep the alpaca from eating his shirt.

Behind him, Geralt clears his throat.

“You, um,” he says haltingly. “You can try giving them this. If you want.”

“What?” Jaskier turns and sees Geralt holding out his hand, some of Roach’s treats cupped in his palm. Geralt’s not looking at him or the little granola pieces; if it was possible, Jaskier wouldn’t be surprised if Geralt was blushing.

Jaskier stares a bit longer than he means, blinking away from his thoughts only when Geralt starts pulling away.

“Or,” Geralt says— still stern, still hiding something softer beneath— and closes his hand, “if you think—”

“I think that you’re an absolute bastard, hiding these from me this whole time,” Jaskier says, gripping Geralt’s wrist before he can fully pull away. He aims the full force of his smile at Geralt, the grin only growing when Geralt looks away. “Here, hold your hand out again. I’m sure they’ll come if you keep still.”

“Animals don’t—” Geralt cuts off with a grunt, shaking his head. “Animals don’t like me. You need to feed them.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier says because he’s seen Geralt in towns and cities, the way he looks at cats before they hiss and scurry off. There’s always a twitch in his fingers, a slight turning of his hand. It’s an unconscious thing, almost, the way he prepares to pet these animals before they turn their backs on him. Jaskier had never wanted to kick a cat before but, well, Geralt inspires all kinds of new feelings in him. “Alright then, dear heart. Pass the treats over and I’ll feed it to them.”

Geralt pours the treats in Jaskier’s hand, careful not to spill any, and Jaskier’s struck with the realization that Geralt had brought the treats with him, that he’d dug through Roach’s packs and known he wanted to offer them to these pets he’d never met— pets he tried to dissuade Jaskier from seeing, alpacas he’ll never see again.

It’s a summer day, but Jaskier warms for a different reason entirely. 

The alpacas move to him slowly as he holds his palm out, the oat treats presented in his hand like a gift. They sniff, tickling his palm and fingertips, before finally accepting what’s been offered. Jaskier laughs, glancing over to catch the briefest hint of one of Geralt’s smiles.

It’s what’s tucked in the corner of that smile— the wistfulness and regret— that has Jaskier shifting ever so slightly.

Pulling his arm back towards Geralt, the alpacas follow the food without glancing up, nudging into each other and making soft droning sounds when they’ve resettled closer to the fence.

Closer to Geralt.

“Here,” Jaskier whispers, reaching for Geralt. “Give me your hand.”

He hides his fondness in the corner of his mouth, hidden like a kiss as he gently leads Geralt’s hand forward— not pushing or pulling, simply giving direction as they both hold their breath.

When Geralt’s fingers brush behind an alpaca’s ears, everything around them stills. Geralt makes a small noise in his throat, his hand moving closer on its own, searching through the fur as though it can be taken away at any moment.

Jaskier can’t remember ever seeing Geralt pet an animal other than Roach. It’s a disservice they’ve both been dealt.

Jaskier marvels as Geralt stretches his hand across the alpaca’s head, letting the fur fit between his fingers and press against his palm as he strokes down the neck, leaning over slightly to reach across the fence. The alpaca snorts, tipping its head and causing Jaskier to panic; the creature, though, is only leaning closer to Geralt’s touch.

The sound Geralt makes next can be defined as nothing other than a laugh. A small breath, escaping in a quick huff, shaped by the crescent of his smile. It’s a sound Jaskier could listen to forever, his lute and songs be damned.

Jaskier lets his free hand drift over Geralt’s, leading him in a pattern he knows animals like this like, long and sturdy strokes down their fur, the slight pressure easing the alpaca into a sense of security. Geralt goes along with Jaskier’s unspoken teaching, learning how to best extend this moment.

“Soft,” Geralt says, gently. “And well trained. The farmer takes good care of them.”

“Or perhaps they just like you,” Jaskier says, just as quietly as Geralt. “I certainly hope that’s not hard to believe.”

“Stop talking,” Geralt says but his tone doesn’t change, still carrying that hint of awe and tenderness. “You’ll scare them off with your blabbering.”

Geralt’s narrowed eyes are a look Jaskier’s only seen a handful of times, moments where barmaids or tavern’s daughters have thought to flirt with the witcher instead of the bard. Hell, it’s a look Geralt’s worn when Jaskier’s made the bold decision to flirt with him, as well.

Gods above… His witcher is embarrassed. Whether by the situation or Jaskier’s compliment, it’s hard to say.

Jaskier smiles to himself, dropping his eyes back to where Geralt’s focused on working a knot out of the alpaca’s fur, his hand surprisingly steady. He’ll let Geralt have this moment, tucking away all teases for a time better suiting than this. For now, he’s simply content to let Geralt memorize the feeling of an alpaca’s fur beneath his hand, let him know that some vulnerable animal let him touch it without fear. Let him have this memory of peace— Gods know he deserves it.

And, selfishly, with the sun catching just right in Geralt’s hair, with the tense lines fading from Geralt’s face, with the slightest smile on his lips— Jaskier feels he deserves this moment, too.

So, amongst alpacas and a summer day, Jaskier and Geralt stand in a field, needing nothing more than the other’s company to make their day complete. 

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing to say here, other than that I hope Joey's doing alright on the farm. I have thought about that video every minute since I saw it.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
